


Things we lost, things we won

by stillahavsvinden



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 05:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11753160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillahavsvinden/pseuds/stillahavsvinden
Summary: Alex is the only thing Tommy has yet to lose.





	Things we lost, things we won

**Author's Note:**

> I loved the ending scene on the train so much that I couldn't help but wonder what happened to Tommy and Alex afterwards. Hence this fic.

Their train screeches to a halt. There are cars waiting for them outside the station. Tommy and Alex are taken directly from the train station to a manor requisitioned and converted into a convalescent home, perched up in the middle of green fields.

 

The manor is thronged with men like Tommy and Alex. Upon their arrival, they are briefly examined by a very attractive nurse, probably mid-to-late twenties, with grave eyes and brisk movements, the same quick smile for every soldier, but no more than that – and even then, Tommy sees a spark come to Alex’s eyes as she deals with him – life stirring in him again. His gaze lingers on her as she moves on.

 

Alex isn’t the only one. Other men are shooting lovesick looks at the nurses as well.

 

Tommy prefers to look away. He is all right, physically – it’s official now – but his insides just won’t stop plummeting. There’s very little that the nurses can do for him.

 

They get to wash themselves, change into clean, dry clothes. Tommy feels a lot more human after that, though still not enough. It’s odd how tired he feels; he could fall asleep on his feet, and yet he can’t sleep. He wonders if Alex feels the same.

 

After they’ve been given something to eat, Tommy and Alex go out on the lawn, Tommy tagging along with Alex. It’s early morning still, and the sun is glaring down on them from a clear sky.

 

“Can’t believe we’re here,” Alex says, gazing around the English countryside. “Sure I haven’t died and gone to heaven?”

 

“If you have, I’m there too,” Tommy replies, and Alex turns to him. His face brightens up a bit.

 

*** * ***

  
The manor-turned-nursing home is a dreary place. It smells of stale smoke and disinfectant. The brick sucks all the light and warmth out of the air, and all that’s left is the presence of loss. Loss of whatever – life, hope, friends.

 

Both Tommy and Alex only stay there for the nights – as soon as the day breaks, they slip out. Tommy clings to Alex’s presence, not only because he’s the only guy there he knows, but also because of Alex’s personality – that forceful personality, one with the power to chase away shadows.

 

Alex is no longer the same he was – back there. Tommy probably isn’t either, but he wouldn’t know. He realises that he knows next to nothing about Alex, and Alex even less about him. Alex, at least, talked during those days on the beach. Alex wasn’t good with brooding silence. Tommy kept his own counsel – as did…

 

_Nevermind. Forget about it. About him. Nothing you can do about it._

 

If the war taught Tommy something (has taught? He still has two functioning legs and hands – he can be sent back), it was to cut his losses. Some losses had seemed unacceptable at the time, and yet they had happened – nobody had asked for his acceptance or approval before robbing him of things – and yet, Tommy had lived. The only loss that would stop him once and for all would be the loss of his life.

 

Tommy remembers just how young he is, at least compared to Alex. He’s never asked, but Alex has to be a few years older than him. And in Alex’s presence, he feels his age again – helpless, unaware, just like back there – except that this time his hopelessness can’t lead to mortal peril.

 

Unless losing Alex counts as that. Tommy isn’t sure.

 

*** * ***

 

The days spent at the convalescent home are a recollection of thwarted and bitter people and monotonous days, only marked by change of weather. On fine days, Tommy stays outside on the sweet-smelling lawn, so different from the smell of salt and damp, petrol and oil – and other smells, which Tommy has decided to repress – to keep away from the infirmity indoors. There’s a folly on the manor grounds, slightly decrepit now, with vast empty fields stretching in every direction around it, trees here and there. Tommy likes this spot the most.

 

It’s so green and peaceful everywhere that it’s almost possible to forget about the war raging on half a day’s trip from here. Not that Tommy could have forgotten. The war is still in him, running its course there. He has heard the nurses talk – in murmurs, in deserted corners – that those who’ve seen war might never be themselves again.

 

When it rains, he grabs an umbrella and goes for long walks in the town. Though, even the longest walks don’t feel long enough (there are way too many hours a day), and Tommy has to stay away from crowds if he wants to avoid queer looks.

 

It’s an uneasy time, permeated with the feeling of waiting. Often, Tommy feels bad for not being more grateful for his situation. It could be worse; at least he’s no longer there.

 

Tommy learns that he isn’t the only one drawn to Alex’s personality. By the second or third day, Alex has already befriended a group of lads their age. One evening, when the sun has crept down to the horizon, glowing orange, they decide to head out to town. Alex asks Tommy to join them, but Tommy declines. He could’ve gone, but for some reason, he’s never cared so little for anything in his life. He’s never fit in with the hard-drinking, womanizing crowd, in which Alex seems to be so at ease (not that he even has any experience of that kind of living – he’s too young).

 

He remembers his mum’s words of warning to his sister; of men who’ve gone crazy in the war and taken it out on girls. Tommy likes to think that Alex wouldn’t do stuff like that.

 

“Thought you didn’t want to see them – civilians,” Tommy remarks.

 

“Well, between civilians and this,” Alex points around them vaguely, “I’ll take the civilians. Birds like uniforms, you know.”

 

Tommy knows by now that Alex deals with things differently.

 

And so, instead of going out, Tommy spends the evening lying in his bed, watching as the other men he rooms with play bridge. He has too much time to think. His mind leaps back to that officer aboard the boat that rescued them, shivering in the corner like a whipped dog. Was it stuff like that that ended up unhinging you, or was it something else?

 

Was it this? This lack of resolution? Tommy was devoid of resolution even before he had to enlist, and now he is so once again, enjoying the brief relief of having survived. But what next? Tommy has been given a second chance, but he has no use for it.

 

He falls asleep out of sheer boredom.

 

He wakes in the dead of the night to the smell of cigarettes, booze, cologne and powdery perfume. For some reason, they only seem to accentuate Alex’s own scent. Tommy pretends to be asleep while Alex undresses, the light from the windows playing on his back.

 

* * *

 

They’ve been at the convalescent home for about a week when the news comes: anyone uninjured is to return home to make way for another deluge of demobbed soldiers.

 

Tommy doesn’t know how the news makes him feel, and he hates himself for it. The return home will be temporary, anyway. That much he knows. Other things will be more permanent.

 

He knows the first, most important thing he needs to do – brace himself for the separation. For leaving Alex behind.

 

“Knew I’d find you here.”

 

Tommy whips around at the sound of a familiar voice, a quiet tremor running down his spine.

 

Alex has come down to the folly, hands in his pockets, eyes squinted in the blazing sunlight. A mockingly beautiful day.

 

“Yeah?” Tommy replies, for want of something better.

 

Alex walks to Tommy’s side.

 

“So – guess it’s time to go home. Forget about everything, go back to normalcy and pretend nothing happened until we’re needed again.”

 

“S’pose so,” Tommy says.

 

Alex’s gaze sweeps the green fields rolling away from them. Then he suddenly rounds on Tommy.

 

“Was nice knowing you, Tommy,” he says.

 

Tommy really has no idea how to respond to this. He shrugs his shoulders, tries to turn it into a joke: “I mean, yeah, I did save your life a couple of times.”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Alex replies and fixes Tommy with a stare that sends a bolt of electricity through Tommy’s body.

 

“Then,” Tommy begins, looking down at his feet, between which he shifts his weight, “What did you mean?”

 

He jolts when he feels Alex’s palm on his cheek; the calloused thumb rubs circles on his stubbled skin, and suddenly every one of his senses is heightened.

 

“I’m not… I’m not – one of those guys, y’know?” Tommy mumbles, half his voice disappearing somewhere in his throat.

 

Alex drops his hand. “Right. Me neither.”

 

His manner changed, Alex walks a short way down the field and flops down on the ground.

 

Tommy watches him for a bit, rooted to the spot. Then makes his way to him.

 

It’s like the beach, all over again – sitting side-by-side in a brooding silence – though this time the silence is only broken by birds zooming overhead, chirruping.

 

And yet, despite everything, Tommy needs Alex’s presence. He will continue to need it, even after he has lost it, which is soon. His heart sinks.

 

There’s something new in the space between them; and it’s not just the fact that it’s just the two of them. Last time there were three. _No, don’t go there._ It’s something else, anyway; something unrelated to Gibson.

 

“Wish I’d met you at some other time,” Alex says at last. “With no war.”

 

“Don’t think we would’ve met in that case,” Tommy says. “Without the war, y’know.”

 

“Yeah, probably,” says Alex.

 

He leans back, closes his eyes to soak up the sun.

 

They continue to sit there, quiet and immobile. Alex’s hand is right next to Tommy’s leg on the lawn.

 

At last Tommy lowers his hand on top of it. He doesn’t look, but he hears the crick as Alex whips his head around. Still avoiding Alex’s stare, he interlaces their fingers. Alex is breathing faster, or maybe it’s just Tommy’s own quickened pulse in his ears.

 

His abruptness startles Tommy – Alex’s thighs straddling him, his hands in Tommy’s jacket, holding Tommy against himself.

 

Tommy shakes his head – he doesn’t necessarily want it. Or maybe he does. He knows he’ll regret not doing it, in the future – so what does that mean?

 

That if he finds himself on another beach, or crouching behind sandbags, his ears ringing from gunfire around him, or on narrow, deserted alleys with bullet holes in the walls, he will find himself lamenting the fact that he didn’t give in to Alex – and Tommy doesn’t want that to be the last thought that crosses his mind in this life.

 

_Just do it. Instinctively. Your instincts have saved you before._

 

“What’re you afraid of?” Alex asks, and Tommy has all the answers ready.

 

At least he thinks he has. The answers burst like bubbles, one by one. What can he be afraid of? What is someone who’s seen what Tommy has seen afraid of?

 

His mind is no longer chaotic, not the way it was, no – the spark of life has been struck.

 

Alex inches closer; Tommy can feel his breath against his mouth. The remaining inches might as well be light-years. Alex kisses him, and although Tommy is shaken by this form of affection, there’s enough roughness in the kiss to erase some of the awkwardness. The memory of Tommy’s only kiss before this stirs in the back of his head – a mere peck on the cheek by the girl who lived next door. This is different. Alex is different. As different as can be.

 

Tommy hazily notices that Alex is still gripping his jacket, unyielding, hungry, and then he finds his own hands on Alex’s waist. Tommy doesn’t understand himself, and that’s what makes it so unbearably exciting – he’d forgotten what excitement even felt like.

 

Alex’s weight forces him down on his back on the lawn. The impact makes their teeth clash and forces them to pull apart. Alex’s eyes are twinkling – so alight with life that Tommy is startled by it. His fingers gripping Tommy’s jacket make their way to the buttons.

 

“You ever done this before?” Alex asks.

 

Tommy gives a noncommittal shake of his head. His answer remains the same when Alex asks, “Do you want to?”

 

The twinkle in Alex’s eyes darkens slightly.

 

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

 

Tommy nods. He agrees with this arrangement.

 

Turns out he never does want Alex to stop.

 

* * *

 

The chill comes quick once the sun has set, but Tommy doesn’t feel it, not with Alex’s body head mixing with his. The grass around them smells sweet and fresh; a near-full moon hangs low over the horizon.

 

“Funny thing, the moon,” Alex remarks, putting out a fag. “I almost expected it not to be there, you know? The universe doesn’t give a toss about us.”

 

Tommy knows.

 

“Funny how everything’s not lost,” Alex adds.

 

Yes. Everything’s not lost. Not yet, anyway.

 

Alex’s fingers tighten their grip around Tommy’s, rub the bruises on Tommy’s knuckles.

 

Tommy doesn’t want to disturb their peace with words, but he has made up his mind – when they rouse themselves, he will ask for Alex’s address; give him his. Just in case everything’s not lost by the time the war is over.

 

It will be over one day.


End file.
